Art remains the one way possible of speaking truth.
Outside are the storms and strangers: we — Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she, — I and she!
God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with, One to show a woman when he loves her.
T'was a thief said the last kind word to Christ. Christ took the kindness and forgave the theft.
Poetry, like love, is something we never truly say goodbye to.
Escape me? Never, beloved! While I am I, and you are you.
O lyric Love, half angel and half bird. And all a wonder and a wild desire.
Wander at will, Day after day,-- Wander away, Wandering still-- Soul that canst soar! Body may slumber: Body shall cumber Soul-flight no more.
Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.
You never know what life means till you die; even throughout life, tis death that makes life live.
From the sprinkled isles, Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea.
It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.
What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?
It 's wiser being good than bad; It 's safer being meek than fierce; It 's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is, a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched; That after Last returns the First, Though a wide compass round be fetched.
A man in armor is his armor's slave.
The best way to excape his ire Is, not to seem too happy.
Love is energy of life.
Men are not angels, neither are they brutes.
You call for faith: I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists. The more of doubt, the stronger faith, I say, If faith o'ercomes doubt.
Each life unfulfilled, you see; It hangs still, patchy and scrappy: We have not sighed deep, laughed free, Starved, feasted, despaired,—been happy.
Rejoice that man is hurled, From change to change unceasingly, His soul's wings never furled!
All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.
grow old with me. the best is yet to be. the last of life for which the first was made.
On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.
The curious crime, the fine Felicity and flower of wickedness.
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